Introduction.
Hello my name is Adam and I'm an alcoholi...wait. Sorry, force of habit there; and well, I'm not very good with the whole concept of introducing myself. Indeed, if this were a party I'd be about to break the stilted awkward silence with some stone-cold conversation killer like “this room's quite rectangular isn't it?” Oh yes, I glide through the social-whirlwind with all the elan of three-legged dog in high-heels.
But flippancy aside, I am really none the wiser about how to undertake the task of an introduction as I was ten minutes ago when I first thought about it as I put the kettle on. You see, part of me suspects that it's rather like lonely hearts ads, in such as if you're able to sum up your personality in thirty words or less, I'm not altogether sure you have one. So I'm left feeling that if you're able to introduce yourself - never mind your writing - in a punchy, easy and all-encompassing way, I fear you can only be one of two things. The first being, a genius. The second being, not very interesting.
The other problem being, I still feel I'm introducing myself to people I've known for a couple of decades; and indeed still introducing myself to myself. As you see, a real introduction would necessitate a level of self-knowledge I'm not sure any of us possess. The kind it takes a lifetime to acquire - a lifetime of experiences. Certainly requiring more than the thirty odd years I've had so far. But I guess that's where I should start with any kind of introduction (it seems to be the done thing.) With some of the experiences that have shaped me, have brought me to be who I am today, and thus what has shaped, and shapes, my writing.
Where to start though? Well, at the beginning I suppose (fear not, I'll spare you the whole conception part, as one: I wasn't there, and two: it's a mental image I can always live without.) So then, moving swiftly on: I had the kind of idyllic childhood that would make even Enid Blyton vomit from how twee it was. All cosy English villages and famous Schools and the all the rest of the disgustingly smug and twee stuff. And by the time I was at University (yes, one of the two) I was all set on the path to the whole conventional life; you know, the proper job and house and the two-point-four children and the index-linked pension and the whole rest of the orthodoxy.
But I always knew that path wasn't for me, that I wanted a life of excitement and adventure and seeing the world - that that orthodoxy wasn't for me. And an opportunity came my way at University, an offer of a job. One that I grasped with both hands. All I can say about is it was working for my government in a capacity that saw me travel to every corner of theglobe. One that has left me with a richness of experience (and legion of anecdotes) I will ever be eternally grateful for. If however it means that I've actually been shot or stabbed more times than I've been in love or having been at some point or other pretty much fluent in more languages than the number of years I've lived in my own country since I left - that's perhaps just the price to pay.
I guess all of this will become evident from the kind of things I will write about, or at the very least the kind of experiences that will colour my writing; for good or for bad. But I think everyone writes best when they write from their own experience, and I'm ever grateful for all the experiences I've had because of this. Indeed, when dealing with some of the hardest things in my life (and believe me, there's been a few) however tough it has been, I have always taken solace from the fact that, even if nothing else, it is an experience that will improve my writing.
To put this in to context, I have in the past year alone: watched a lover of half a decade slowly die from cancer, I have nursed a desperately close family member as they have lost their mind to Alzheimer's, I have met the love of my life, I have had my heart crushingly broken, I have been shot in Afghanistan, I have killed in Columbia, I have seen friends and strangers alike meet violent deaths, I've published a book and written another, I've become a godfather...and I've finally beaten my mother at scrabble.
And indeed, a hell of a lot more besides. But that's the kind of thing that will shape and underpin my writing (and indeed shapes and underpins me.) It's also the reason I decided to enter this year - it's been a hell of a year for me, and writing provides a release as well as expression for me. What will come, only time will tell. But I know it's the only artistic medium I can work in, it's one I've loved since the first time I held a book in tiny infant hands, and it is one I will love, come what may, until my dying day.
LJ Idol